


to paint something new

by megeggsalad



Series: it is so simple to love you [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist AU, Body Paint, M/M, Slight Insecurity, brownie is an accounting major lol, married au, this fic is so self indulgent i stg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 20:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megeggsalad/pseuds/megeggsalad
Summary: If Connor’s grin was sunshine, Freddie would be blinded.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i literally?? watched the game last night and decided that it wasn't real, it never happened. have some soft boys instead.

Connor’s skin always feel so nice under Freddie’s hands.  


It’s not smooth, usually--he has a few bruises on his back from their game the other day, and they’re at the point in the season where he can see the ridges in Connor’s spine. There’s a scar, three inches long, on his shoulder from once when Connor took a hit in minor hockey and someone attempted to skate over him.  


But Connor’s skin--it’s always so alive under him. He can feel Connor’s breath under his paint-stained fingers and brush; he can physically feel the warmth Connor always seems to carry around with him.  


Freddie traces a line down his husband’s back with his paintbrush, and his eyes catch on the way Connor smiles, eyes closed and lips quirked up. He’s been so patient with Freddie for the last forty minutes, even though Freddie’s climbed all over him and put him in a thousand awkward positions--Connor’s just accepted it all, and now he’s laying on his stomach, head resting on top of folded arms, his eyes closed, though he isn’t asleep.  


“Fred,” he murmurs, and blinks an eye open. “You’re tickling me again.”  


“I’m sure,” Freddie says, and stifles a giggle just in time to keep his hand steady as he reaches in to blend a few colors.  


“It’s not funny,” Connor whines, even as he giggles into his arms.  


“It is, a little,” Freddie says, and blows on the paint a little so it dries faster. Connor sighs, big and long suffering, and Freddie kisses the back of his neck, trying to hide his smile.  


It was Freddie’s figure drawing professor that suggested he use Connor as both a muse and canvas. Freddie’s good at figure drawing; he has never really needed help with that, but what he does need to improve on is his background and landscape work, and his professor knows how much inspiration he gets from Connor, so she’d suggested body paint and a quiet night in.  


He wouldn’t usually take date ideas from a professor, but he’d known her for four years and probably would have invited her to his wedding if it hadn’t been planned in thirty-six hours and held at the rink and on literal ice.  


When he’d suggested it to Connor, Connor had been more enthusiastic than Freddie, which shouldn’t have been surprising but was. Freddie isn’t sure if Connor knows exactly how often Freddie drew him, or exactly how much inspiration Connor provides for Freddie, day in and day out, even if he only so much as looks in Freddie’s direction.  


He’s not sure how he feels about telling Connor he’s Freddie’s muse, and that makes him sad sometimes, that he still feels like he has to hide things from Connor, as if they both aren’t all into this, as if they aren’t literally fucking married.  


But Freddie knows--he knows insecurities aren’t solved by already-made promises and rings on fingers. He just wishes, sometimes, that they could be.  


Connor’s pliant under his hands as he works for about another hour, but breathes a sigh of relief when Freddie says, “Don’t move, but I’m done.”  


Connor doesn’t move his back, but he does turn his head to look at Freddie. “You’re incredible,” he says, unfolding an arm to trace a finger down Freddie’s face.  


“My art is nothing without you,” he says, a split second before he realizes Connor doesn’t mean his art.  


“Untrue,” Connor simply says, “but thank you for telling me.”  


There’s a soft smile on Connor’s face, like he’d been waiting for it. And that makes Freddie a little less sad--that Connor had already known what he was to Freddie, even though Freddie couldn’t tell him yet.  


When Freddie leans down to kiss him Connor’s smile fades, until all Freddie can feel is the pressure of Connor’s lips on his, the gentle nip of Connor’s teeth at his lips, the softness of Connor’s tongue soothing over the bites.  


“I love you,” Freddie whispers, and Connor just kisses him again.  


It’s not comfortable. Freddie is half bent over them both and Connor is still on his stomach and Freddie’s pretty sure he’s getting paint in Connor’s hair, but--but it’s good, and it’s a reminder, of how solid and strong and forever they are.  


“I love you too,” Connor whispers back, and then rests his head down on the pillow under his arms. Freddie brushes a kiss over his forehead.  


“Let me take a few pictures and then we can shower,” Freddie says, and Connor nods.  


He ends up grabbing his professional camera, because he needs these to be good, and the lake scenery on Connor’s back is some of the best landscape work he’s ever done.  


Connor practically falls off the bed in his haste to get to the shower, and glares at Freddie when he laughs. “Asshole,” he mutters. “This is your fault.”  


“Absolutely,” Freddie says, and then laughs again when Connor turns his back on him and stomps into the bathroom.  


“Nope, no sharing the shower for you,” Connor says, and shuts the door in Freddie’s face. Freddie makes sure Connor can hear his laughter this time, too.  


He uses Connor’s shower time to clean everything up and get new sheets, and when Connor yells for him to get his ass in the shower and clean the paint off his back, their room is no longer a cluttered mess.  


Connor’s still pouting when Freddie strips and joins him in the shower, but when Freddie soaps up his back and starts to clean the paint off, he fades back into that contentedness he’d obviously been feeling while laying on the bed. Once all the paint is gone, and its just slightly tinted water dripping down Connor’s back, Freddie steps in close and wraps his arms around Connor’s waist. Connor leans his head back against Freddie’s shoulder, and says, “I like being your muse, you know.”  


It makes Freddie smile, and he thinks the prick of self-consciousness he feels is a little bit smaller than it was last time. “Artists draw inspiration from the things important to them in the world directly surrounding them,” Freddie says, nuzzling Connor’s cheek as the water soaks his hair through. “And you’re--you’re at the top of that list.”  


If Connor’s grin was sunshine, Freddie would be blinded. Connor turns in Freddie’s arms and stretches up on his tiptoes to kiss his lips, cheeks, nose, jaw.  


Freddie laughs, and puts his hands on Connor’s neck to steady him before kissing his mouth, long and slow. Connor presses him against the tile of their shower wall, and his hands trace over Freddie’s shoulders. Freddie just sets his hands on Connor’s hips and lets himself be kissed.  


After a few moments, Connor pulls back, and presses one more soft kiss against Freddie’s lips before saying, “I’m going to get out now, so you can actually shower before all of the hot water is gone.”  


“Mmm, okay,” Freddie whispers, and presses a gentle kiss to Connor’s neck.  


Connor slips out of the shower and Freddie is actually sort of grateful, because he was kind of sweaty from holding himself in a million awkward positions while he painted Connor’s art. He washes the paint and sweat off his skin and out of his hair, and when he’s dressed again, Connor’s in the kitchen, sautéing vegetables and putting some chicken in the oven.  


“Smells good,” Freddie says, and Connor doesn’t turn to look at him, but he does smile.  


“Hopefully it’ll taste good, too,” Connor says, as if he doesn’t cook amazing food for them when he has the time and they’re both home.  


“Shhh,” Freddie shushes him, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Where can I help?”  


“Onions,” Connor says instantly, because Freddie is somehow nearly immune to crying when he cuts them.  


Before he sets up the cutting board, though, he pulls up his classic rock playlist, because whenever he does, he gets to watch Connor do his ridiculous air guitar with whatever kitchen utensil he’s holding at the time, and that’s one of his favorite things in the whole world.  


And so, Freddie’s cutting onions, his husband brushing up against his side, singing loudly along to Bon Jovi, when he realizes--this is it.  


He’s a senior in college, NHL teams have been knocking on his door for two and a half years now, and he’s more than likely leaving Toronto when he graduates in June.  


He and Connor are forever, there’s not a doubt in Freddie’s mind about that, but--but moments like these, in the kitchen and together--and Freddie loves Connor so much--  


“Next year,” Freddie says, and reminds himself to put his knife down. “Wherever I go--” He stops himself, because he can’t ask that of Connor. He can’t ask Connor to drop out of school, he can’t ask Connor to abandon the team that they both love so much.  


Connor is his husband, but Connor is also his own, and Freddie will not force him to make a choice between two things that are both rightfully Connor’s.  


“Hey,” Connor says, and moves the skillet off the heat and turns off the oven before crowding into Freddie’s space, pulling his head down with a hand on the back of Freddie’s neck so their foreheads are pressed together. “Whatever happens, you know I’ll always come back to you. If it takes a few years of being on different teams, that’s fine. We can do this. I married you for a reason, Fred--I’m not just going to forget about you once you graduate, and I’m sure you’re not just going to forget about me.”  


“You’re right,” Freddie says, because he is. “I just--I’m going to miss you.”  


That makes Connor’s expression fall, a little. “Yeah, I--I’m going to miss you, too.”  


Freddie closes his eyes and just breathes, for a second, and Connor takes his hand, smoothing his thumb over Freddie’s knuckles.  


“You’re all I want,” Freddie whispers, and Connor hugs him, fierce and unrelenting, and Freddie knows they aren’t going to change any time soon.  


When he signs his first NHL contract at the end of the season, it’s with a clear head and full heart, and Connor by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> glad yall could make it to the end this time! hope this one was a bit better than "decent" :)


End file.
